


secret's out

by nightbirdrises



Series: Sinking 'verse [9]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Remember that you're worth more than words."</p>
            </blockquote>





	secret's out

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this segment: homophobic language, slut shaming
> 
> You can read Sinking in chronological order using [this page](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/sinking), or you can read it in the order of events as I wrote them [here](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/tagged/v%3A+sinking/chrono).

Blaine hummed absently as he pulled into the McKinley parking lot, his mind focused on the English test he was to have in first period and the football game after school. It was the middle of the season, their fourth or fifth game (he was never good at keeping track), and Blaine was fairly confident about the team’s chances of success. They had good chemistry, even if Finn had been acting strange ever since he saw Blaine with Kurt. 

He parked and stepped out of the car, glancing at the letterman jacket thrown haphazardly across the passenger seat. It was brand-new and bulky — especially on Blaine, whose frame wasn’t exactly imposing. Despite that, he decided to heed Puck’s suggestion from their last practice and pulled it on. It was still bulky, but he felt a sense of pride as he walked towards the school.

Rooting through his bag for his English notes as he walked through the doors and into the hallway, Blaine noticed that it was a lot quieter than usual. He kept his head down until he got to his locker and opened it before looking around. A small gaggle of freshman girls immediately turned away as his eyes raked over them, and he thought he caught a few guys smirking in his direction. 

Panic rose like bile in the back of his throat, though he wasn’t sure why, yet. All he knew was that this was eerily similar to the day after he came out at his middle school in eighth grade — people whispering behind his back and boys acting either disgusted or greedily interested (in what, Blaine hated to imagine).

"Dude, Blaine!" He took a deep breath and turned to see Sam quickly coming towards him. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," Blaine muttered, checking the time — fifteen minutes before the start of class. "Here?"

Sam shook his head as he led him down the hall. “No, no, in the choir room. Nobody ever goes in there, it’s perfect.” 

Frowning, Blaine asked, “Why not?”

"It used to be the room where the show choir met, but it kinda disbanded after losing Nationals last year." Blaine remembered Dalton’s a capella show choir, the Warblers; he would have auditioned if he hadn’t been spending his free time practicing football.

"Did you know anyone in it?" he asked, making small talk to distract himself from the people gawking at him in the hallway.

"Me," Sam said dryly. "Finn, Puck. There were a lot of us, we were called the New Directions. Oh, and Kurt," he added, throwing Blaine a look over his shoulder.

"Kurt Hummel?" Blaine thought he did a good job pretending not to know too much about Kurt most of the time, but Sam didn’t seem convinced.

"Yeah. He was in it from the start, even though he didn’t really sing after his accident. But then some stuff happened at the beginning of last year and he dropped out completely, Quinn too, and they joined the Skanks."

"Huh."

"Crazy, right? But all that’s over now," Sam said, a bit sadly. "In here."

Blaine followed Sam into an empty room with chairs stacked to the side of a built-in set of risers. He expected to see a piano, but there was none — instead, there was a half-full box of sheet music sitting against the wall just inside the door. The sight, pitiful, had Blaine feeling weirdly empty despite the fact that he had no real ties to the room or the group that used to occupy it.

"Okay," Sam started, rounding on Blaine, "is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"You know, what everyone’s saying," Sam explained unhelpfully.

"Why don’t you tell me what everyone’s saying and I’ll let you know."

"You don’t… you don’t know?"

"Sam, please, get to the point," Blaine sighed. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, and sure enough…

"Fine— Are you actually dating Kurt?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?" Blaine asked hopefully, and Sam frowned, actually considering it. "Whatever, yes, I’m gay and I’m dating Kurt. You have a problem with that?"

"No, of course not," Sam said, grinning. "I just wanted to know for sure whether it was a rumor or not from the man himself."

"Well, congratulations. Now you know." Blaine sat down on the bottom step of the risers, letting his head fall into his hands.  _It’ll be fine, it won’t be like before, people will forget about it, no one’s gonna fucking beat you half to death—_

"Blaine, man, you okay?" Sam asked, sitting down next to him and placing a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"They won’t hold it against me, will they?" Blaine hated himself for asking, should have been able to hold his own, but he had to know. He was scared, more scared than Sam could possibly imagine.

"What? That you’re with Kurt? They might talk for a while, but they’ll get over it."

"Not just that," Blaine said, shaking his head. "Me being gay."

"Oh. Well, no one bothers Kurt about it," Sam said, though he seemed to be holding something back.

"But?"

"No buts," he said unconvincingly. "You’ll be fine. I’ve got your back, and so does the rest of the team, I’m sure of it."

Sam clapped him on the shoulder and stood up, Blaine following suit. He still wasn’t confident that his teammate was right, but class was starting soon. Better to greet the day head-on, Blaine figured, even if he still wanted to get back in his car and drive home, tires screeching. 

"You’ll tell me how the test goes, right?" Sam asked as they left the choir room, looking at Blaine with a worried expression. Blaine couldn’t help but smile, nodding; he knew how much trouble Sam had in his classes. He was about to suggest that they spend lunch going over the materials when someone barreled into his shoulder, knocking him right into Sam’s arms.

"Wh—"

"Just one of the puckheads," Sam muttered, glaring down the hall as Blaine righted himself. "Don’t worry about it." Following his gaze, Blaine tried to see who it was — but they had disappeared.

The first bell rang, startling him. “See you later, Sam,” he said quickly, and he slipped down the hall with as much speed as he could muster. Keeping his head down to avoid seeing the stares that he could feel burning into him, Blaine was grateful when he finally reached the English classroom with a minute to spare. Sliding into his seat, he took a moment to compose himself.

"Jacket off, Mr. Anderson."

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking it off and draping it around the back of his chair. As the test was passed out, he kept his gaze fixed on the overhead projector in front of him, unwilling to… what? Stare an angry dog in the eyes, so to speak? He wasn’t sure, but he remained frozen in place until the sheet of paper was placed on his desk.

Looking down, the words made no sense. Each sentence bled into the next until Blaine found himself rereading the same passage over and over without absorbing a single letter of it.

The clock ticked, someone sneezed, and Blaine closed his eyes in yet another attempt to calm himself.  _You’re overreacting. It’s just a test, worry about the test first, deal with everything else later._

By the time the bell rang, signaling the end of class, Blaine had turned in his completed test feeling confident that he’d at least scraped out a high C and convinced that he could make it through the rest of the day. It was a Friday, at least, so there was an entire weekend for the news to fade from the minds of the students. All he had to do was handle one day.

That wouldn’t be so hard, right?

 

* * *

 

"Look, it’s Hummel’s new fucktoy," someone jeered, and Blaine gripped the door of his locker tightly, refusing to turn around.

"How many fags can there be in one place? It’s a fucking Pride fest."

"Disgusting."

The voices faded away as their owners moved on, leaving Blaine alone at his locker, his free hand shaking as he reached for his American History book. The bell rang; he was late, but he had no will to care. The chatter in the hall died down as students went to class, and the silence was a blessing.

"Hey."

Turning, Blaine’s eyes caught Kurt’s, dipping down for a moment to his lips out of habit. “What?” he said icily, leaning heavily against the locker next to his. Kurt’s eyes narrowed — apparently it wasn’t necessary to hear to get the gist of Blaine’s attitude.

"They’re assholes and they don’t matter. Look, about tomorrow—"

Blaine shook his head, slamming his locker shut and turning away. A hand fisted in his letterman jacket, holding him back. He shook it off roughly, starting down the hall without looking back.

"You’re really fucking scared right now, aren’t you?"

And that was what had him turning back around, saying, “Maybe I am! Maybe I was hoping that I could come out of the closet on my own, maybe I wanted to forget about the last time I came out, maybe I don’t think I can do this.” Kurt frowned, and Blaine was about to give up out of exasperation — it was a lot harder to vent when the other person couldn’t hear a single word.

"Do what, exactly?"

"This, any of this," he said, gesturing between the two of them. "It was never going to work anyways."

"And what makes you say that? No, listen to me," Kurt said, stepping up to Blaine, his voice wavering more than usual. "You’re a hell of a lot stronger than you think, this shit will pass soon enough, and I’ll be right here every step of the way."

"Are you sure about that?" Blaine asked, his emotions running ahead of his logic. "Sure you won’t go running to the experienced, perfect, older men the second you realize that I’m just some stupid, virginal kid that can’t even handle being out of the closet?"

"If you think I’d just up and leave to get  _fucked_ —”

"Why not? That’s what you do, isn’t it?" For a second Blaine thought that Kurt had missed this last statement, maybe misread his lips, and he was relieved — that is, until Kurt took a step back, shaking his head.

"Let me know when you’re finished listening to what other people say," he said, strangely calm. "Until then—" Kurt opened his mouth to continue, but stopped, giving Blaine a last, lingering look before turning to disappear down a side hall, the click of his boots echoing solemnly. 

Blaine made to follow but changed his mind, instead sinking down to sit against the lower lockers, feeling as though the air around him was disappearing, leaving him in empty space, drowning him.

 

* * *

 

The whistle blew, shocking Blaine out of his reverie. He was sitting at the end of the bench, watching as McKinley’s offense tried to turn the tide against the other team — the name of which, Blaine realized, he couldn’t remember. All he knew was that the scoreboard read 20-18, and that they were losing in the fourth quarter.

"So. Give or take?" Blaine glanced to his right, where one of the defensive linemen, a burly, redheaded guy named Luke, was sitting. He would have appeared genuinely curious if not for the cruel smirk on his face.

"I’m not talking about this," Blaine answered.

"Oh, come on. I know Hummel must have gotten you to do  _something_.”

"Hey! Pay attention to the game before I boot you out," Beiste called, and Blaine shot her a grateful smile. She nodded, focusing back on the game.

"Seriously though," Luke continued in a low whisper. "The guy’s a fucking rabbit. Anyone with even a sprinkle of fairy dust or whatever, he’s on ‘em like a bitch in heat."

"Don’t talk about him like that."

"Well, aren’t you noble," Luke’s closest friend, a cornerback named Carter, said. "Don’t tell me you actually have feelings for him." Luke laughed.

"It doesn’t matter," Blaine said, shaking his head. "You don’t know him."

"I don’t have to know him to know that he’s nothing but a slut—"

Blaine stood up, his blood boiling, and moved so that he was directly in front of Luke and Carter.

"Kurt Hummel is a hundred times better than either of you, and how much sex he’s had has nothing to do with the kind of person he is. Whatever you think, I’m not dating him just to get fucked." A voice at the back of Blaine’s mind wondered whether he  _was_  still Kurt’s boyfriend, but he pushed it away.

He didn’t stay to listen to any kind of response they might have had; Blaine was suddenly pulled to the sideline by one of the assistant coaches, who was muttering in his ear about staying calm and forgetting about the clock and  _oh god the entire game is riding on me_ , he thought, staring blankly out at the field.

The score was still 20-18, there were six seconds left on the clock, and the Titans were setting up for a field goal attempt. A field goal attempt by Blaine, the kicker, who found himself sick to his stomach at the prospect of missing. He wasn’t bad, but he hated to imagine how much worse people would talk if he lost the game for them.

He hated that that was what he worried about most.

"Dude, calm down," Puck said, sidling up next to Blaine and nudging him in the shoulder. "You’re practically green."

"I don’t know if I can do this," Blaine said honestly as they ran onto the field together.

"You can," Puck assured him. "And if you can’t, whatever. It’s just one game. Hey, can I say something?"

"Sure."

"I want to apologize for telling some people about you," Puck said quietly. "I thought Finn was just telling me stuff that everyone knew except me, you know?"

"Wait— Finn?"

"Yeah, he told a bunch of us about you and Kurt. Said he caught you guys making out at their house or something?"

"He did, but I didn’t think…" Didn’t think that Finn would do something like this,  _why_  would he do something like this?

"Anderson, focus," Beiste shouted from the sidelines, and Blaine took a deep breath as Puck moved to his place. He stared up at the goalpost, down at the ball, and thought he caught a glimpse of pink-streaked hair in between. He had no time to dwell on that, though; Blaine made his running start, the wind rushing in his ears, and kicked the football as hard as he could.

He watched it fly through the air and fall — to the far right of the goal, the referee signaling “no good.” He’d missed.

The jeering and booing from the stands were nothing to the rushing that remained in his ears, the sound of a waterfall that didn’t exist, the sound of disappointment and failure and terror at what he would be faced with after tonight—

He was walking towards the bench when someone grabbed hold of his arm, forcing him towards the deserted end of the bleachers.

"Hey! He can’t go anywhere until after we talk!" Whoever it was didn’t heed Beiste’s yells, only tugged him on, Blaine letting himself be pulled blindly.

Before he really registered what was going on, Blaine found himself underneath the bleachers with none other than Kurt, who had a lit cigarette in his mouth and the dry-erase board held up in front of him.

_I’m sorry you have to go through this because of my reputation, and I’m still here if you want me to be._

"What?" Blaine said incredulously, shaking his head.

"Write," Kurt said shortly, thrusting the board into Blaine’s hands. Blaine took and and began to write with shaking fingers.

_You don’t need to apologize for anything, but I do. I’m sorry for accusing you of… that. I swear I didn’t mean it. Forgive me?_

He passed it back, sensing that Kurt wasn’t in the mood to speak.

 _I do. Thank you for defending me back there, even if it is a hopeless prospect (Q was under the bleachers, she told me all about it)._  Kurt gave him a wan smile as Blaine read the statement, his heart sinking.

_You were right, though. I’m terrified. Especially now. I feel so stupid._

_You’re not_ , Kurt wrote back. _Promise me something?_

"Anything," Blaine mouthed.

_Remember that you’re worth more than words. Remember what people say, feel free to hold it against them, but know that you’re a hell of a lot more than all of it._

"You’re pretty smart," Blaine teased, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually go to class once in a while." Kurt’s eyes followed his lips, and he chuckled.

"Dumbass," he mumbled, tossing the board and his cigarette to the ground as he crashed his lips into Blaine’s. It felt like home, even if the smoke was still fresh on Kurt’s lips. "Are we still on for Scandals tomorrow night?" Kurt asked when they parted.

"Yes," Blaine assured him. "I’m going to a gay bar with my boyfriend, and if anyone has a problem with it, that’s just too bad." Kurt grinned, kissing him again.

"We’ll be fine," Kurt hummed, seemingly out of nowhere, but Blaine understood: it would be difficult, but they could handle whatever society had against them. "You should apologize to Coach for being willfully kidnapped."

"Oh— Shit." Blaine started to rush back to the field, but he turned to face Kurt one last time. He didn’t have anything to say — he just wanted to look, at this boy that had dealt with more than Blaine knew, that was breathtakingly beautiful, that was certainly not perfect in any way,  _but that’s what makes him perfect_ , Blaine thought.

They still had plenty to talk about, he knew, but he was content as he ran back to the field, preparing himself for what he was about to face.

After all, he could take on the world with ease. He just had to believe it, with a little help from Kurt.


End file.
